Chapter 6 — The Pitching Test
The next practice arrived with a cool breeze and the smell of freshly cut grass. Zach walked onto the field swinging his arms, full of energy. Tyler jogged beside him, half-awake and sipping a juice pouch.
"You're too excited," Tyler mumbled. "It's creepy."
"But today Coach said we're doing pitching drills!"
"That's exactly why it's creepy," Tyler said.
Zach laughed.
Then he noticed Blake already on the mound, warming up with loud, exaggerated grunts.
Every pitch he threw, he glared directly at Zach.
Tyler whispered, "Oh boy… he's in full villain mode today."
Zach swallowed. "I didn't do anything bad…"
Tyler shrugged. "Yeah, he doesn't care about that."
Coach Ramirez Makes an Announcement
"Alright!" Coach Ramirez shouted. "Today we're doing a controlled pitching comparison."
Several kids gasped.
A couple parents straightened in their seats.
Blake smirked like he had already won.
Zach blinked. "What's a… controlled pitching comparison?"
Tyler translated: "He's gonna make you guys pitch one after the other."
Zach nodded cheerfully.
Tyler groaned. "Please stop being happy about everything."
Coach Ramirez held up a radar gun—the ancient kind that looked like it barely survived the 1990s.
"This thing might be older than half of you," the coach said dryly, "but it works. Blake, you're up first."
Blake strutted to the mound.
Blake Throws
Blake wound up dramatically, teeth gritted, and unleashed his first pitch.
67 mph.
Parents clapped. Blake grinned smugly.
Coach nodded. "Good. Again."
Second pitch.
68 mph.
Blake flexed.
Third pitch.
66 mph.
He shot a cocky look at Zach.
"I'd like to see you beat that," he sneered.
Zach just smiled politely. "Okay."
Blake sputtered. "HEY—! That wasn't— I wasn't— you're not supposed to—!"
He waved his arms like a malfunctioning windmill and stalked away.
Tyler whispered, "Your kindness is a weapon."
Zach Takes the Mound
Coach Ramirez motioned him forward. "Zachariah. Your turn."
Zach jogged onto the mound with a bright smile, feeling the dirt settle under his cleats. The mound felt like home.
He set his feet.
He lifted his leg.
He threw—not full power, but clean and smooth.
WHAP.
The ball hit the glove with authority.
Coach looked at the radar gun.
71 mph.
A collective gasp rippled through the field.
Blake's face drained of color.
Zach blinked. "Was that good?"
Coach Ramirez stared at the radar gun like it was lying to him.
"…Throw again," he said softly.
Zach nodded and threw a second pitch.
WHAP.
72 mph.
Kids murmured. Tyler's mouth hung open.
Zach threw a third pitch, this time with just a little more intent.
WHAP.
73 mph.
The parents erupted into whispers.
One mom said, "Are we sure he's five?"
Another whispered, "Is he even human?"
Zach looked at Coach anxiously. "Um… was that too much?"
Ramirez blinked slowly. "…Kid. That was perfect."
System Update
Before Zach even stepped off the mound, the familiar soft chime echoed in his head.
Ping.
"Quest Progress: Coach's Approval (3/5)."
Bonus: Minor Arm Endurance +1."
Zach felt a warm, tingling sensation in both arms—as if invisible hands gently stretched the muscles.
He smiled.
The system felt like encouragement from someone he couldn't see—but trusted anyway.
The Aftermath
Blake stormed toward Coach Ramirez.
"This isn't FAIR!" Blake yelled. "He's FIVE! Five-year-olds aren't supposed to throw that fast!"
Coach Ramirez raised an eyebrow. "Well, he does."
"He's cheating!"
"He's five."
"He's a MUTANT!"
Tyler whispered to Zach, "If you start glowing or levitating I'm leaving."
Zach tried not to laugh.
Blake stomped his foot. "I should still be the starting pitcher!"
Coach Ramirez sighed. "Blake, calm down. You're still one of our pitchers. But Zach clearly has talent—"
"I HAVE talent!"
"—yes, you do," Ramirez agreed. "But his mechanics and control are unusual for his age."
"He's a freak!"
The field went silent.
Parents turned.
Kids froze.
Even birds seemed to quiet down.
Zach's shoulders drooped.
Tyler yelled, "HEY! Don't call him that!"
Coach Ramirez stepped between them. "Blake. Go cool off. Now."
Blake's father began approaching, but Coach gave him a single glance—a firm "not now" look—and the man held back.
Blake stomped off, fuming and muttering under his breath.
Coach Talks With Zach
When the tension settled, Ramirez knelt beside Zach.
"You okay?"
Zach nodded, though his eyes were dimmer than usual. "I don't want Blake mad at me."
Ramirez sighed. "I know. But his anger isn't your fault. Sometimes when people see someone special, instead of getting inspired, they get scared."
Zach hesitated. "…Am I special?"
Coach smiled gently. "Very."
"…Is that bad?"
"No," Ramirez said firmly. "It just means people notice."
Zach lowered his gaze. "I didn't want to make him sad."
"You didn't," Ramirez assured him. "You just made him work harder."
Zach considered this.
"Is that good?"
"That's great."
A small smile returned to Zach's face.
A New Challenge Appears
As practice wrapped up, Zach sat on the bench drinking water when another chime sounded quietly in his mind.
Ping.
"New Challenge Quest: Surpass Blake's Official Stats."
Stage 1 Goal: Match his control rating."
Reward: Precision Boost (Minor).
Zach tilted his head.
Match his control? How do I know his control…?
Suddenly, floating text appeared faintly beside Blake—only visible to Zach.
Blake Thompson — Control: 54
Zachariah Miller — Control: 46
Zach blinked in awe.
The system can measure other players…?
He felt something spark inside him—a mix of curiosity, competitiveness, and determination.
Not because he wanted to beat Blake.
But because now he had a clear goal.
And he loved goals.
He loved improving.
He loved baseball.
Coach's Final Words Today
Before dismissing them, Coach Ramirez walked in front of the team.
"Next practice, we're doing a scrimmage. I want to see how you all play under real game conditions. Don't worry about perfection—just effort. And respect."
He emphasized that last word while looking directly at Blake's empty seat on the bleachers.
Then he turned to Zach.
"And Zach—come ten minutes early next time. We're starting your mixed-arm pitching drills."
Zach nodded so fast his hat almost flew off.
Tyler bumped his shoulder. "Dude. Mixed-arm? That sounds super cool."
Zach beamed. "I can't wait!"
They ran off to their parents, dirt-covered and smiling.
Except Blake.
Blake sat alone in his father's truck, arms crossed, eyes burning with frustration, watching Zach leave.
And the system softly acknowledged the tension.
Ping.
"Rival Identified: Blake Thompson."
Rivalry Level: 1
Effects: Increased XP gain when outperforming rival."
Zach didn't know what "XP" was, but he liked the sound of "increased."
He walked home beside his mom, bouncing gently on his heels.
The journey had only begun.
And tomorrow…
he would be even better.